“Know what?” Eliza asked.
“That Grant Parker is back in town.”
All the color drained from Eliza’s face. And if she’d been balancing on the edge of a precipice before…
She’d just fallen off.
Chapter 5
Normally, walking into the kitchen and immediately being enveloped by the inviting aroma of garlic and rosemary would have eased Eliza’s troubled spirit. But tonight, the overpowering scent of her mother’s famous garlic potatoes made her stomach turn.
Why had Grant Parker come back to Poppy Creek? When Eliza glimpsed Grant in the crowd on New Year’s Eve, she’d thought it was a fluke. Or a figment of her imagination. Now, faced with the uncertainty of his unexpected arrival, her mind reeled with the possibilities.
“Hi, honey. Dinner’s almost ready.” Sylvia kept her back to Eliza as she chopped scallions for the Caesar salad.
“Thanks. Is Ben upstairs working on his homework?”
At the dejected lilt in Eliza’s voice, Sylvia spun around, wielding a large chef’s knife. “What’s wrong?” She pointed the sharp blade, her cocoa-colored eyes narrowed in concern.
Eliza threw up her hands in mock defense. “Whoa. These are some questionable interrogation tactics, don’t you think?”
“Don’t deflect.” Sylvia set down the knife and wiped both hands on her paisley apron. “Sit.” She gestured toward the high back barstool, taking the one beside it.
“Am I this bossy?” Eliza groaned.
“You’re worse,” Sylvia snorted. “Now, out with it. What’s bothering you?”
For a moment, Eliza didn’t speak, wondering which problem she should tackle first. Mentioning Grant would only open wounds she wasn’t ready to face. Colt, on the other hand, was a marginally safer topic.
“I’m waiting.” Sylvia pursed her heavily outlined lips. Even on a quiet weeknight at home, Sylvia Carter wouldn’t be caught dead without a full face of makeup. Not to mention the flamboyant updo.
“I… have a date. Sort of.”
“You have a date?” Sylvia squealed, clasping her hands together. “Thank goodness! I was beginning to think you’d die alone. You don’t even have a cat.”
“Gee, thanks.” Eliza should be offended, except she’d heard the same lament a thousand times before.
“Hank!” Sylvia shouted. “We can finally book that Mediterranean cruise!”
Eliza rolled her eyes, ignoring the slight sting of her mother’s words. “Dad’s still in the garage working on Frida Connelly’s sewing machine. The one she insists is broken all because her sister, Francine, can sew a straighter line.” Eliza snickered, but Sylvia wasn’t listening. The mention of Eliza’s potential love life negated all other matters.
“Fine, I’ll tell him later.” Sylvia turned her hopeful gaze back on her daughter. “So, I want to hear all about him.”
“There isn’t much to tell. It’s one date. Barely even a date, really. And I haven’t decided if I want it to become more than that.”
“Why not? Is there something wrong with him?”
“No. I’m just not sure I should be dating anyone right now.”
Sylvia opened her mouth to protest, and Eliza held up her hand. “At this moment, I need to focus on my son. Especially with the trouble he’s having in school. Speaking of which, I should go check on his homework.”
Eliza slid off the stool and headed for the staircase, bracing herself for her mother’s inevitable—and always theatrical—outcry. But when she’d reached the bottom step and the performance still hadn’t come, Eliza stole a quick glance over her shoulder.
Sylvia met her gaze, her dark eyes soft, yet troubled.
“What?” Eliza asked against her better judgment.
“Nothing,” Sylvia said quietly.
